


The D stands for...

by ilse_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilse_writes/pseuds/ilse_writes
Summary: It happened, every once in a while. Derek called Stiles, or Stiles called Derek. Or they simply ran into each other. They just needed to both be single and D. D stood for Down and / or Dumped with Derek. In Stiles' case it just meant Drunk. Or Dumb, as Lydia put it. Just as long as they both were single, that was the main rule. It's nice, until Stiles fucks things up. Royally.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. Part 1

Stiles woke up with a furnace plastered to his back. Werewolves ran hotter than humans; Alpha or Beta, it didn't make a difference as far as he knew, not for this particular werewolf. He stretched, making his body long between the confines of Derek’s arm and chest. It was a good place to be, Stiles knew from ample experience. He never stayed very long, yet he was always happy to come back. Sex with Derek was surprisingly uncomplicated; they did what felt good and Derek was uncharacteristicly communicative when it came to telling Stiles what he wanted and how he wanted it. He was attentive to his partner, though he was also demanding. Stiles chalked it up to the remnants of being an Alpha; even though Derek no longer was the Alpha to his own pack, was now a somewhat reluctant and most often absent Beta in Scott's pack, he still carried traces of that Alpha behaviour in him.

After a night with Derek Stiles always felt recharged. Even when he was sporting a hangover, although this time he'd been completely sober when Derek called him. It happened, every once in a while. Derek called Stiles, or Stiles called Derek. Or they simply ran into each other. They just needed to both be single and D. D stood for Down and / or Dumped with Derek. In Stiles' case it just meant Drunk. Or Dumb, as Lydia put it. Just as long as they both were single, that was the main rule. Derek was very adamant about that. Well, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. That evening of the anniversary of the Hale fire, almost a year back, Stiles hadn’t been single. Technically. He hadn’t even been that drunk either. But Derek needed someone who took him apart, made him forget who he was and then put him back together. And Stiles was that someone. He'd called it off with the girl he was dating - only three dates in yet - the next day. It wasn't going anywhere anyway.

Stiles rolled to his back, his side pushing down against Derek's front. "Watch the goods," Derek rumbled sleepily, adjusting his hips so Stiles wouldn’t squish his softer parts. 

"I'm gonna make breakfast. You want some?" 

Derek didn't open his eyes. "Think there's some eggs." 

"I'll find something." Stiles patted the arm that was over his chest so Derek would lift it to let him get out of bed. He felt around on the floor for something to wear and came up with his own boxer shorts and a T-shirt of Derek. That would do. 

He looked back at the bed, where Derek was hogging the blankets now Stiles had gotten up. They'd been sharing a pillow and Stiles could see why: behind Derek was the other pillow, riddled with deep claw marks. Stiles smiled smugly. He loved it when the claws came out. It meant that Derek wasn't holding back; or, even better:  _ couldn’t _ hold back.  
"You'll need a new pillow. Again," he told the snoozing werewolf, unable to hide the amusement in his tone.

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek grumbled, his face mostly hidden in the still intact pillow.

Stiles reached out a hand to ruffle through Derek’s hair. The werewolf pretended to hate that, so Stiles loved to do it. "Not so grumpy, big guy. You know I love it when the wolf comes out to play." Not that he would, you know, get down to it with Derek in full wolf mode, Stiles did have  _ some _ lines he didn't want to cross. But still, the fangs and claws were hot, especially because it meant he got Derek to lose control. He considered it a big feat, getting Derek to let go of the control that was second nature to him. "Now, how do you want your eggs?"

***

Stiles worked as an archivist and researcher for the Supernatural Research Department of the FBI. Halfway during his training as a field officer they’d discovered his talents lay with research rather than in the field. Needless to say, his father was very pleased to hear that. Especially when he heard that Stiles would be stationed in Beacon City, an easy 25 miles away from his old hometown. Fresh of the academy, Stiles wasn’t happy to be placed in the dull city. If Beacon Hills was a sleepy town with only the supernatural to shake things up a bit, then Beacon City was even worse, because Stiles had not found a trace of the supernatural there. All things supernatural seemed to take a detour around Beacon City, at least, it seemed that way until he crossed paths with a werewolf from his past. There, in front of the corner coffee shop Stiles always went to for caffeinated fuel, they’d stood awkwardly in front of each other, both not able to say anything other than “Hi”. Until Stiles threw all reservations overboard and threw his arms around Derek’s shoulders for a firm - and long overdue - hug. “Good to see you, man. When did you come back?”

And Derek really was back. Or at least on a part time basis. After travelling through South America with Cora, he came back to the States and settled in Los Angeles. “Cora’s choice,” Derek explained over coffee. He still wasn’t generous with words, yet like Stiles he seemed genuinely pleased to see the other man and was happy to catch up over a hot drink. He shared a house with Cora in the City of Angels, though he missed the forests of Northern California too much to really stay away. So when Stiles saw him, he’d just signed the lease of a studio apartment in Beacon City. Close enough to the Preserve to drive up for a run, but far enough from the small town to not be in the way of the residing werewolf pack. Scott’s pack.

“Not  _ your _ pack?” Derek asked, screwing his eyebrows together over the rim of his coffee cup. It was their second brew. 

Stiles shrugged, making a non-committal sound. “Scott’s my best bud, always was, always will be. There’s just…” He waved his hand around, trying to encompass the  _ everything _ that passed between him and the True Alpha aka his best friend.

“Too much history.” And of course Derek would get it. 

“You check in with Scott yet? Like a good Beta werewolf?” 

Derek only glared a little before he gave a short nod. “He knows I’m around.”

“Good, good.” Stiles wasn’t going to feel miffed about Scott not informing him about Derek’s arrival. They talked maybe once every two or three weeks, for all he knew Scott was saving the news for their next phone call. Or he wasn’t going to mention it at all, it was not like they talked about every little detail. Most of their phone calls were about Scott and Kira’s daughter, or Scott’s work in the vet clinic. He was a co-owner now, with Deaton. The residents of Beacon Hills got their pets neutered by a True Alpha nowadays. Not that they knew, the supernatural community of Beacon Hills was still very much hiding in plain sight. There was a select group of law enforcement officers that knew, along with coach Finstock and, very arbitrarily, the owner of the local pizza joint and his young son. According to Scott, it had something to do with Liam picking up their regular order of a spectacular amount of pizzas and then getting startled by the owner’s six year old kid when he came round the back. Long story short: Liam had sprouted fangs and claws and the kid was now known as ‘that little devil’. Only to Liam, by the way. The others called the boy Manuel, or Manu for short.

“You know he’s got a kid now? With Kyra?” Stiles munched on his cinnamon bun. The conversation had shifted from the two of them to the friends they had in common.

“A daughter, I think?” Derek wiped his mouth with a napkin after polishing off his own baked treat.

“Luna,” Stiles answered, with fitting gravity.

Derek blinked at him. “You’re serious?” He actually sounded a little horrified.

Stiles grinned broadly. “I know, right?”

***

The first time they tumbled into bed together wasn’t even the actual first time. Their first time had been when Stiles was just short of eighteen years old and they had a very close brush with death. The kind of close brush that made you want to fuck to prove you’re still alive, to feel that the other is still alive. Adrenaline and fear made for very bad decisions, they’d both decided afterwards. They cared about each other, that much was obvious, but taking it any further than always having each other’s back was not in the cards for either of them at the time. Stiles was at peace with that. Derek had been his first, it was a good experience, and that was that.  
The second time it happened it wasn’t in a bed. It was in the bathroom stall of the rip off Hardrock Café bar downtown. Stiles was drunk with a capital D and it was the anniversary of Laura’s death so Derek was feeling down, also with a capital D. He couldn’t remember all of it, not clearly at least, but he was pretty sure the werewolf sucked him off and had then proceeded to hump his leg until Stiles’ pants definitely needed to be washed.

Nothing came of it. They still had coffee dates whenever Derek was in town, mostly around full moons, and when the next hook up took place a little over a month later (this time it was the D for Derek getting dumped), they spent the night at Derek’s studio apartment, had breakfast together and then Stiles went to work like he did on any other weekday. 

“It’s our thing,” he explained to Lydia, when he visited her in Boston. Not that he really felt the need to tell someone, the topic just came up. “It’s like, you know, friends with benefits.”

“You and Derek are both too emotionally charged to do the friends with benefits thing,” she said, judging him with her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. 

“We  _ so _ can! It’s called emotional growth,” Stiles argued loosely. Lydia continued to look at him like he was stupid. “I resent that, you know,” he said to her silent judgment. 

The divine goddess that was Lydia Martin shrugged. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all goes to shit.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Except, he totally would. He’d done it before. When his relationship with Malia crashed and burned, the end as big a mess as their relationship had been, Lydia let him hole up at her penthouse in Boston and eat his body weight in ice cream and Doritos. He wasn’t necessarily missing Malia, he knew they’d never really work together, he was mostly mourning the loss of his very first real relationship. However, this thing was nowhere near the same as his relationship with Malia or any other relationships he had. Derek and he hooked up every now and then, no strings or feelings attached. At least no feelings that went beyond “Oh, that feels good, do that again”.

Stiles was good with how things were. He really was. He even met some of Derek’s girlfriends, if they were around for long enough. Most of them were pretty nice; at least Derek had been able to break that nasty streak of dating murderous women. The werewolf even dated a colleague of Stiles for a couple of months. They met when Stiles went out for drinks with his co-workers on a friday night after work, at a bar where Derek was meeting Isaac for a burger and beers. The couple dated for about four months, after which she broke it off and Derek called Stiles to meet up.

“You never told her that you are a werewolf?” Stiles frowned at his friend over his beer. “You  _ do _ know Lyndsey works in my department, right? As in, she knows about the supernatural.”  
Derek continued to glare at the sticky bar top. He was always in a bad mood when one of his relationships ended, something Stiles didn’t really understand. After all, as far as Stiles knew, Derek never told his girlfriends about the supernatural part of his life. In other words: how close could they have been? If he really liked them, he would have told them, right? It was even the reason most of the women called it quits: they all told him some version of  _ “I feel like there is a whole side to you I don’t know about.” _ Those girls didn’t know how close to the truth they were, when they told Derek that.   
“I know you have trust issues, big guy, I do. Who wouldn’t, after all the shit you went through with Kate. Oh, and Jennifer. Let’s not forget about her!  _ Woooh! _ She was a  _ bitch _ !” Stiles might have had one drink too many. Or two. He deserved the threatening growl Derek directed at him. It was a good thing that the music in this bar was loud, so the other patrons couldn’t hear the werewolf. Stiles briefly wondered how Derek could stand it with his sensitive ears, but it was definitely an upside that he didn’t have to shout to be heard over the music. And Derek didn’t talk all that much anyway.  
Stiles sidled closer to Derek and swung an arm around his neck to give him a wet, noisy kiss on his cheek as an apology. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up. It’s a good thing  _ she  _ dumped  _ you _ instead of the other way around. I still have to work with her, you know. I don’t think she would want to bring me coffee when it’s her turn to do the rounds if you dumped her. After all, she knows we’re frie-”

Derek turned to him, bringing their faces close so Stiles had a first row seat to his angry glare. “How is this you shutting up?”

He showed the werewolf a sideways grin. “What? I thought you liked it when I talked?” It was a glorious moment in history for Stiles when Derek admitted he liked listening to him. Granted, Derek was under the influence of post-blowjob bliss and the remnants of aconite laced whiskey when he said that, but still. Stiles liked reminding the werewolf of his statement. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled, his sharpened teeth dangerously close to Stiles’ jawline. 

Stiles moved his head up, briefly exposing his throat to the werewolf, before giving Derek a challenging stare. “Make me.”

Stiles didn’t really shut up, though Derek expertly reduced him to sounds of the non-word variety as soon as they reached his bedroom.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcoholic drinks with tiny umbrellas should be banned.

Stiles dated other people. It was not like he was waiting for Derek’s relationships to crash so he could hook up with the werewolf again. Okay, if he was honest, he did hope for the end sometimes, yet that had more to do with the woman in question than with wanting to have sex with Derek. Yes, sex with Derek was good, very, very good. But Derek was his friend and seeing him happy trumped getting laid. Stiles had other people he could get laid with, he didn’t need Derek in particular for that. It was just that some of the women Derek dated - it was always women, Stiles never saw him with another guy - were so unbelievingly _dull_ . There was Joy, the librarian, who could talk for hours and hours about books. Nothing wrong with that, Derek was a real bookworm himself, but it was _all_ she could talk about.   
Or Jody from the bakery at Mainstreet, who came after Joy. Stiles _definitely_ made the joke “She’s like Joy, but with a D in it!”. It was a good joke, because Stiles had it on good authority that Joy wanted to save herself for marriage. Unlike Joy, Jody did put out. Boy, did she! Stiles still laughed at the time he met Derek for coffee one morning and the big guy was visibly put off by the smell of the whipped cream that topped Stiles’ seasonal coffee special. Still, daring sexy times to the side, Jody wasn’t much of a conversationalist. This time, Derek was the one to break it off, after getting fed up with her yammering on and on about the latest town gossip. Stiles knew from experience Derek could put up with a whole lot of rambling, so it really had to be bad.   
And those were only the women Derek dated in Beacon City and the surrounding area. He had some girlfriends in Los Angeles too. Sometimes, when the relationship went on long enough, Derek brought them over to Beacon City for a weekend trip. So they could go on long walks in the forest, or something. Stiles didn’t think the girls liked that very much: the LA women Derek dated tended to be of the skinny, fashionable type. They probably didn’t even own shoes that were fit for a hike through the Preserve.

Still, Stiles dared to say his partners were more exciting than Derek’s. There was Darren, the FBI field agent that was sent to investigate a persistent case of brownies in a neighbouring town of Beacon City; the little buggers probably strayed over from Beacon Hills. Stiles had called Scott about that, telling him to keep a closer eye on his territory, even though it was kind of nice the city had its own supernatural event for a while. After Darren left town they tried the long distance thing for a few months. It didn’t really work out, though Stiles definitely learned a thing or two about creative phone sex.   
Or Steve, who used to work as a bouncer at Jungle and rivaled Derek when it came to being built like a brick house. Steve had a bit of a temper, which could make things interesting, yet also less than pleasant at some occasions. Stiles was not so secretly happy the guy recently found another job a few towns over, because they didn’t end things amicably and he liked going to Jungle.   
Right now, he was dating a nice girl called Piper. She was actually the younger sister of one of Derek’s conquests, although Stiles didn’t know that until after he recognised said sister in one of Piper’s Instagram photos. He’d checked in with Derek about that, one of the few times they texted about anything other than Derek announcing he would be in town and asking if Stiles was free for coffee. Turned out, it wasn’t a problem, because Derek never got to the point of meeting the family when they dated.

Things were nice. Piper was fun to hang out with and he'd recently taken her out to lunch with his dad. Her father was a retired police detective, so there was enough common ground for easy conversation. The sheriff even pulled Stiles to the side after their lunch, telling him it would be nice "if this one stuck around". Scott hinted at something similar, saying Stiles and Piper made a great couple. Even Lydia deemed Piper worthy of being a Facebook friend.   
Stiles actually didn't know how to feel about that. Sure, it was nice that his father and friends liked his girlfriend, but it kinda felt like they were subtly pushing him to get more serious with her. She regularly stayed over at his apartment, yet Stiles was fine with where they were at. So, no, he hadn’t yet cleared out a drawer for her, even though she had hinted at that. Stiles liked to have his own space. She did have a key, but he only got her that after she got stuck outside in the rain, when he was running late from a job meeting. So, practical reasons.

Derek was dating again too. A woman from Beacon Hills this time. She'd only moved there a few years back, so Stiles didn't go to school with her nor did he know her from his childhood. Kirsten worked as a wildlife conservator and this could very well be the first girlfriend of Derek that actually _liked_ to go hiking with him.

Stiles met her a couple of times, hell, they even talked about going on a double date! Piper and Kirsten would probably get along well. Piper was good like that, she was quick to make friends. They just hadn’t gotten around to picking a date that worked for the four of them. Piper made long hours at the law firm she worked at and Stiles often had irregular hours, if an ongoing case asked it of him.

***

At last a time to meet up with the four of them presented itself when the whole town got together at the yearly fundraiser event organised by the sheriff department. The weather was good, with summer closing in fast, there was food, there was alcohol: it was gonna be a great night.

Which was why Stiles was a little confused the next morning, to be waking up in his childhood bedroom, alone. These days it was more like a guest room, with most of Stiles' old stuff either over at his own place in the city, stuffed in the attic or simply thrown away. His old bed was still in the same place, the Queen sized one he had since middle school. If the bed was big enough for sleepovers with Scott, surely Piper would fit too? Stiles was pretty sure his father wouldn’t make them sleep in separate rooms. He was 25, surely the sheriff was aware of his son having a sex life.

Like, Piper was supposed to be here too, right? He went to the party with her and he knew they made plans to sleep over at his dad's for convenience. So, why wasn't she here?

A massive headache split his skull when Stiles tried to sit up. Clearly, there would be no sitting up for a while. Falling back onto his pillow also wasn't a good idea, as that somehow upset his stomach. Stiles swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. He really had too much to drink last night.   
After a while the feeling subsided and he was able to curse Gladys from the front desk for slipping him her homemade cocktails. They had a tiny umbrella in them. Stiles had a weak spot for drinks with the tiny umbrellas; he always unrolled the Chinese newspaper ring at their base and tried to guess what it said.

Stiles tried to remember what happened last night. It was all kind of a jumble in his head, a big, hazy jumble. He remembered catching up with Scott, dancing with Kyra, and Piper of course. And Derek was there, probably Kirsten too? Stiles groaned for the way his skull throbbed. Gladys was evil, pure evil. No matter how many abandoned kitties she fostered, that woman turned into the devil when she made cocktails.

He couldn’t find his phone in his room. His clothes were hanging over his chair, but his pockets were empty. "Fucking A," he mumbled, stumbling his way to the bathroom. A massive hangover _and_ losing his phone, not the best way to end a party. He belatedly remembered the mysterious disappearance of Piper, silently judging himself for worrying more about his phone than his girlfriend. It was his work phone, alright? He used to have two phones, until he got tired of carrying around two almost identical phones. So now he had one of those dual SIM devices, for which he had to needle his boss and… Anyway. Losing the phone would be a hassle, alright? Unlike Piper, the phone didn't have its own set of legs to get around.

Downstairs he met his father in the kitchen, who was eating breakfast. Stiles glanced at the clock with the little pictures of vegetables instead of numbers. It was half past broccoli, so it was more likely his dad was eating lunch instead of breakfast.  
Stiles missed the judgemental stare of his father because he was distracted by the red phone case on the table. "My phone! Thought I lost it."

"Found it in the planter by the front door," the sheriff remarked curtly. 

Stiles didn't raise an eyebrow at that. Moving his face hurt. "Must've fallen out of my pocket," he stated absently after checking the thing still worked. He had some messages that could wait until after he had coffee. And eggs. With bacon. _Lots_ of bacon. Stiles opened the fridge and groaned in disappointment when all he could find was turkey bacon. He should be happy his father was still sticking to his low fat diet even after Stiles moved out, yet with the hangover he was sporting, nothing short of real bacon would do the trick.

"I also had to pick up your clothes," his father said to his back while Stiles busied himself with the coffee maker. "It's been a while since you left a trail from the front door to your room."

Stiles winced slightly at that. It would explain why his clothes had been neatly on the chair this morning. He was more of a _drop 'm where you step out of 'm_ kind of guy, especially when drunk. "Sorry about that," he offered, refilling his father’s mug with fresh coffee.

"I'm not really the one you should be apologizing to, son." This time Stiles did catch the eyebrows of judgement.

"Ah, yes, I guess," he answered, wincing again. If Piper had to clean up after him she would probably be pissed. It would certainly explain why she left before he woke up. "Did Piper go out for her morning run?"

His father frowned. "She didn’t come home with you, she left the party early. Parrish drove her home."

"Home? Like, Beacon City home?" Stiles asked in confusion. Then he saw the overnight bag Piper had brought with her, sitting untouched in a corner of the kitchen. Right where she left it when they dropped off their stuff before going straight to the party.  
He made a face and glanced over at his father. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

"As much as I'm against you using that word, I think it's the most apt description for what happened," his father answered in all seriousness.

Stiles winced audibly. "That bad?"

The sheriff pointedly took a sip of his coffee. "That bad. In public."

Stiles thumped his head on the table and left it there when he felt like it cracked his skull in two. "I blame Gladys," he whined. "Gladys and her cocktails."

"You're an adult, Stiles." It was all his father said. It was enough. If Stiles behaved badly enough to have chased his girlfriend away from a party, he should man up and blame it on himself instead of the alcohol. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles said again. Because undoubtedly his behaviour would be talked about in town. It was a small town, gossip was what people lived on.

After he had put enough coffee and greasy food in his stomach to be able to function somewhat properly, he went back to his old room and dialed Piper’s number. Better not wait any longer to deal with that.   
He got her voicemail. Five times in a row. Then he got a text: [ _I don't want to talk to you._ ]  
Stiles texted back: [ _I just wanna say I'm sorry. I fucked up. I'm really sorry._ ] He wanted to say some more, but didn't really know what to say. After all, he didn’t quite remember what he did, besides getting drunk. He had a feeling it was something more than simply drinking too much, yet it was not like he could ask Piper what he had done wrong. He was not a complete idiot, thank you very much.

When he didn’t get a reaction from Piper and his next two calls also went to voicemail, Stiles checked out his new messages. He had a couple from Scott. One was from a little before midnight, reading: [ _That was harsh, man. Even from you._ ]  
The other two were from early that morning, asking him if he got home alright and to tell him Scott had his jacket.

He’d sort of arranged to meet up with Derek at the party, yet Stiles couldn’t remember talking to him last night. He must've been busy. Yeah, busy getting drunk, his mind supplied. Stiles was getting more and more convinced that he'd made an ass of himself last night. It was likely Derek got to witness his public humiliation. He didn't have a notification for a new text from Derek, but that was no surprise. Derek had never been an avid texter.

There was another text from that morning, from Lydia. [ _You fucked up, Stilinski_ ] was all it said. Confused, Stiles pressed the button to call her. She answered on the second ring, sounding more composed than he could ever hope to achieve. "You're awake," she said, foregoing a proper greeting.

"How do you do that?" Stiles groaned, sitting down on his bed and resting his still throbbing forehead in his free hand. "You weren't even at the party, how on Earth can you know what happened?" He snapped his head up. _Ouch_ . "You _do_ know what happened, right?"

"Of course I do," Lydia answered, as if her living all the way in Boston wasn't in any way an obstacle to her knowing everything that went on in Beacon Hills.

"Tell me? Please?" Stiles said with a whine.

"Jordan got quite an ear full when he drove your girlfriend home last night," Lydia said conversationally and Stiles remembered how she and the deputy had a longstanding sunday brunch date over Skype. "That is, if she's still your girlfriend after last night."

"Of course she's still my -" Stiles sputtered. "Why wouldn’t she be?!" Lydia was silent, letting him doctor it out. “Oh, god, I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Have you spoken to Piper yet?” 

“She won’t take my calls,” Stiles groaned. “It must have been bad. Even Scott sounded disappointed in his texts.” 

“And Derek?” The innocent question made Stiles frown.

“What do you mean, Derek? Did I piss him off too?”

“I’d be furious if I were him.”

Stiles felt his stomach clench and it wasn’t because his breakfast was disagreeing with him. “Lyds? What did I do?”


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles fucked things up, more than he even knew.

“Scotty, why didn’t you stop me?” Stiles lamented, draped half over his friend’s kitchen table. To his side, Kyra snorted. She was feeding Luna bits of fruit, the toddler squeezing the banana in her little fists before she crammed it in her mouth. 

“There was no stopping you, man,” Scott answered, putting a bottle of water in front of Stiles. “It was like watching a car crash or, like, one of those mudslides that takes out a whole village.”

“I told my girlfriend Derek was the hottest person I’ve ever dated,” Stiles said to the table top, appalled at his own words from the previous night.

“The hottest piece of ass you’ve ever gotten your hands on, if I remember correctly,” Kyra corrected him. Whoever thought Kyra was sweet, had never experienced her affinity for schadenfreude.

“You also said you considered him the best sex partner you’ve ever had,” Scott added. Really, him and Kyra were a match made in gloating heaven. “And you asked Kirsten if she had seen his wild side yet.”

“And when Kirsten asked what I meant, I nearly outed Derek as a werewolf. Yeah, yeah, I know, Lydia told me.” Stiles sighed deeply, his breath misting up the smooth table top. In one drunk conversation he’d managed to insult his own girlfriend and made his friend and his girlfriend very uncomfortable at the least. If Derek didn’t want to tell Kirsten about werewolves, that wasn’t Stiles his business, no matter how he felt about it. He’d discussed it with Lydia more than once, how the werewolves should be able to share that side of themselves with their partners. Especially Derek, as a born wolf. After all, being a werewolf was all he knew; Stiles simply couldn’t imagine it felt right to hide such a big part of yourself. He even talked to Scott about it, yet the Alpha gave him the politically right answer of ‘Derek has to decide that for himself’. 

“You most certainly outed him, yes,” Kyra said, feeding Luna another piece of banana. “I don’t think Derek appreciated you yanking him out of the closet.”

Stiles lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You know, telling Kirsten about you and Derek,” Scott answered a little strained, keeping his eyes on his girlfriend and daughter. “Did Piper know, by the way?”

“What? About me and Derek hooking up?” Stiles frowned, thinking it over. “She knows I’m bi. I don’t think Derek ever came up specifically, but she knows I had relationships with men.”

“Well, Kirsten certainly didn’t know.” Kyra looked at Stiles disapprovingly. “You know Derek only ever dates women and he never talks about,” she flicked a hand in his direction, “that  _ thing _ you two had going on.” 

Stiles flinched at her use of the past tense. Surely there was more between him and Derek than the occasional - slightly morally questionable - hook up. They got together for coffee often enough, Stiles considered Derek a close friend.

“As far as anyone else is concerned, Derek is straight,” Scott said, eyeing Stiles nervously. The topic clearly made him uncomfortable. While Scott had no trouble talking about his own sex life, God knows Stiles had heard enough of that from a teenage Scott, he always got jittery when it was about someone else’s dick.

Stiles snorted and was about to say something very vulgar about having Derek’s dick in his ass, when the sudden glares of the parents across from him reminded him of the presence of a child in the room. “I think I would know a thing or two about Derek being straight or not,” he settled for. He seriously doubted Luna would understand a word he said, yet he was willing to keep his language in check for the sake of friendship. If only he’d done the same last night. Damn Gladys and her cocktails!

“You would know, yes, but you’d be the only one,” Scott answered. At Stiles’ disbelieving face he continued. “I only found out because I smelled him on you. Most people in the pack know, but that’s because we’re werewolves, Stiles, not because either of you talk about it.”

“I talk about it,” Stiles argued weakly, because he could see Scott’s point. He mentioned it sometimes to Scott, but only after his friend had found out on his own, through scent. And Lydia knew, yet she knew everything. He could see how that didn’t count. There were some other people that knew, yet like Scott said, they were all pack. It was hard to keep a secret when your friends could smell it on you. Not that it was a secret, not really, not on purpose at least. It was just this unspoken thing, he never discussed it with Derek, it just happened every now and then. Stiles had his own theories about it, but they were just that: his own thoughts about it.

Stiles left his friends’ house with his jacket and the same heavy stone of guilt that had been in his stomach since his phone call with Lydia. 

He’d fucked up. Royally.

***

Texting an apology was for scaredy chickens, yet he couldn’t handle any more judgement from his friends, not with this massive hangover. So Stiles figured he would get the first apology out of the way with a text, and then he would call Derek tomorrow, when he didn’t feel like someone pulled him through the wringer anymore.

Only he had texted Derek already...

[ _U deserve somone U can be hones with. About everything._ ]  
00.32 AM

[ _U dont have 2 hide wolf from me_ ]  
00.39 AM

[ _I bet Kisten would b scared. Not me I’m not scared of your claws_ ]  
01.03 AM

Royally fucked. Totally. No doubt about it.

***

When Stiles returned to his apartment in Beacon City, he found out how much of Piper’s stuff had been in his apartment, even though she never moved in or even officially had a drawer in his closet. With all of her things removed, his apartment suddenly seemed empty.

Piper meant it when she said she didn’t want to talk to Stiles. And when they eventually did talk, Piper coming to his apartment so she could leave when she wanted, Stiles feebly wished they hadn’t talked at all. She gave him a thorough dressing down, laying all his faults out on the table. And they were plenty. 

“You never take anything seriously,” she said. Stiles was wiser than arguing that he took his job very seriously. “As soon as emotions are involved, you fall back on jokes and superficial platitudes.” She pointed out that he never purposely made space for her in his life. “You give your time and your body, but never more.”

Stiles didn’t go to Boston for ice cream and oreo’s. 

He didn’t call Derek. He wasn’t sure Derek would even want to see him, they hadn’t talked since the disaster at the party.

Instead, he buried himself in his job.


End file.
